


[track 01] put my trust in you

by duskafterdawn, libragirls



Series: the cool cousin vanitas chronicles [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Vanitas learns how to deal with his feelings AU, family au, milkshakes to cope, slight mention of body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 17:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18503434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskafterdawn/pseuds/duskafterdawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/libragirls/pseuds/libragirls
Summary: Vanitas can't let Sora share his remarkably good looks and keep dressing like a lost fifth grader. It's definitely not his way of finding out what's wrong with his younger cousin. Definitely not.





	[track 01] put my trust in you

The old car sputters as Vanitas pushes the clutch back in, shifting back into neutral as he nears the light. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. The light turned yellow just as he approached, and he slams his head against the loose headrest, and it kicks down a lower notch. 

Vanitas pulls a hand down his face, his tired eyes glaring at the red light. Slowly, a mini-van enters the intersection, and Vanitas rolls his eyes. 

_So glad I could wait for_ you.

Although his brain says otherwise, the night’s still young; young enough that stopping by Lea’s for the _second_ time shouldn’t be a problem. He was there not three hours ago; the kids had barely let him leave––practically clinging to his ankles as he dragged himself out the door. 

Impatiently, Vanitas smacks a hand on the dashboard. As if hearing him, the light turns green, and Vanitas cracks a smile. “Oh, hell yeah, Scrapper.” He rubs his hand affectionately on the dashboard, ignoring the sputtering and clanking sounds as he accelerates. “You still got it.” 

The old car propels Vanitas through the tidy suburban neighborhood. The drive would go a lot faster if he could break twenty-five, but he keeps his eyes peeled for the cop that likes to watch for ugly, insurance hazards like Scrapper. 

The car’s red doors mismatch its black hood, an assemblage of misfit parts. Vanitas doesn’t mind so much––he minds the crack in the windshield much more and the fact that the manual driver’s side window has a bad habit of getting stuck halfway down. The sometimes working, sometimes not A/C also leaves much to be desired, but thankfully the quick transition to fall weather means Vanitas won’t have to worry about that problem for another half year. 

Keeping his eyes ahead, he leans over to the passenger seat, hand passing over old fast food wrappers and receipts before fishing out his phone. Just as he pulls into the parking lot that belongs to a long row of near-identical townhouses, he messages “open up it’s me” to Sora and Roxas. He’s quite good at using just his thumb to text, but he wouldn’t let Ventus catch him doing it. 

He can hear his brother in his head. _“I don’t care if you’re in a parking lot or not; no texting!”_ Vanitas rolls his eyes as he swerves into the visitor’s parking. 

Vanitas tumbles out of Scrapper––he regrets buying a car so low to the ground, but he’ll never admit it––and jogs up to the townhouse all the way at the end of the lot. Although it has two levels, the house itself is narrow, something made painfully obvious when two people try to walk down any hallway or stairway. Vanitas has watched Lea stoop in some doorways, the very tips of his hairsprayed hair brushing it. 

Vanitas notes that Lea’s mini-van isn’t in its parking spot, just Isa’s car. Huh. He steps up onto the small concrete porch and then presses the doorbell. Repeatedly. 

He only gets to press it thrice when the door’s wrenched open. Big blue eyes and messy brown hair––Sora is his savior. “What are you doing back?” 

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

He expects Sora to laugh; he usually does in the face of Vanitas’s sarcasm. The laugh never comes, however. Sora just blinks at him for a second, and that’s when Vanitas really looks at him. The odd look on his face…. It’s almost like––

Sora steps back from the door, motioning Vanitas in. The older one edges into the house and shuts the front door behind him. His eyes survey the living room, taking in the fact that Roxas is nowhere to be seen, before determining that Linkin Park is playing from an undisclosed location. Most likely Roxas and Sora’s shared bedroom. 

He looks back at Sora. He still has a bit of height on his younger cousins, something he ensures by exclusively wearing footwear with platforms whenever he’s over. His Converse have never breached this doorway. 

Vanitas juts his chin out. “Did you even check to make sure it was me?”

“Well, you said it was you.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Vanitas’s hand twitches beside him. He almost ruffles Sora’s bangs. He shoves his hands into the deep pockets of his jean jacket. “Anyway, Ven left his stupid textbook here. I told him I’d get it.”

“Oh.” Sora smiles at him, and Vanitas can once again read his every thought. Sora’s a bit of an open book like that. So is Roxas, though his chapter titles are named exclusively after Shakespearean tragedies and YA literature. Sora is more like a children’s picture book.

Sora rocks back on his heels. “That’s nice of you.” 

“Yeah, yeah….” Vanitas bites the inside of his cheek, looking away from Sora. He moves further into the house, weaving through the living room to the kitchen, and the slap of Sora’s bare feet on linoleum follows him. “So what’s up with no one answering their phone? I tried to call Lea when I was on my way, but he never picked up.” 

“He and Isa are out at dinner.” 

Vanitas moves into the smallish dining room, spying the offending textbook. _Stupid, Ven._ How could Ventus have forgotten it, he has no idea. When they got back to their own apartment, Ventus looked inside his backpack, immediately bemoaning the fact that the book was not there and that he needed it for tomorrow and he had _so_ much homework and that truthfully, they had stayed too long at Lea’s and now he was going to _fail_ his summer class––

So to put an end to it, Vanitas said, “I’ll drive back over; it’s not a fucking big deal.” 

But the way Ventus stared at him….

Vanitas clears his throat. Sora’s looking at him funny and so he asks, “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to stay for a second. While you’re here.”

“You didn’t get enough of me already?”

Sora laughs and ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks back at Vanitas and once again Vanitas can’t read him. “I mean, if you’re busy…. It’s fine. Forget it.” He laughs again. 

“Ven needs his book,” Vanitas thinks aloud, pretending to deliberate even though he’s made up his mind. “But I guess I can stick around until Lea and Isa get back.” 

Sora brightens at this, unbelievably so. So much that it hurts to look at him, and Vanitas turns his eyes to the ugly 70’s style shag carpet underneath the table before flicking back up, landing on Sora’s too-small cargo shorts and bright red polo. 

Vanitas tries to not wrinkle his nose. When was the last time the kid went shopping? It hasn’t really been that long since Vanitas started coming around again, maybe half a year at most, but Sora still dresses like he did when he was in the fifth grade. Vanitas thinks he remembers this exact shirt. No fifteen-year old should have to resort to too-small cargo shorts. 

He almost quips something about it, but he thinks about Sora’s big eyes, the wrinkle between his brow when he answered the door, and he bites his tongue. 

Vanitas carefully watches Sora, looking for that flash of– of something behind his eyes. The glimpse of whatever he saw before Sora let him in. 

Linkin Park’s “In the End” starts over, and Vanitas looks at the ceiling. “What’s up with your brother?”

Sora shrugs, scratching the side of his face. “I dunno. He was mad about something earlier. After Lea and Isa left.” 

“What’d he do? Hole himself up there?” 

“Yeah, kinda.”

Vanitas knows he has no room to talk, so he swallows down his remark––he’s been working on his nonexistent impulse control––and instead, he thinks about the implications of Sora being locked out of his own room. Vanitas remembers sharing a room with Ventus…. 

Like a closet brimming with things that have been shoved in it, hiding the shameful evidence, Vanitas slams the door shut on those memories. He shuts his eyes, rubbing at his temple. 

“Van?” 

“What d’you say that I take you shopping one of these days?” 

Sora blinks, looking down at his clothes. “Aw, I dunno….” 

“You’ve gotten taller,” Vanitas lies. The only thing bigger about the kid is his messy hair. Once again, Vanitas has no room to talk, but his younger cousin (that he only has five years on) comes up past his chin. And that might be thanks to the inch-thick platforms on Vanitas’s boots. 

Sora looks down as if to realize just how ill-fitting his pants are. “You know I don’t have much money.” 

“That’s why you’ve got me.” Vanitas hooks an arm around Sora’s neck. “I can’t let my baby cousin go without nice things.” He pokes a finger under Sora’s arm, where the hole in the seam is. “I mean, really.” 

Sora’s laughter drags a smile to Vanitas’s face, one he doesn’t bother covering up. 

Vanitas and Sora settle in the living room and opt to play Mario Kart, and Vanitas never again sees the odd, dissatisfied look cross Sora’s face that night. 

 

 

Vanitas doesn’t know if he should ask Ventus about it or not. 

The next day, after Ventus collapses on the couch, looking a bit tired from running between class and work and back home again, he drags out his thick textbook to morosely thumb through the pages. Vanitas hovers at the edge of the couch, staring at his brother. 

He just doesn’t know how to ask. 

“You know I hate it when you do that,” Ventus intones. “When you loom.” 

“Fuck off.” Vanitas ruffles his carefully teased hair, keys in hand and about to head to work. He shifts foot-to-foot, tapping his platforms against the floor. 

Ventus finally looks at him, revealing his eyes from behind the book. “You, uh…. Do you need something?”

“No.” Vanitas crosses to the doorway. “See ya.”

It’s probably nothing anyway. 

 

Dinner at Lea and Isa’s always makes Vanitas feel…interesting. Even though he’s been coming around more often than he ever has, about once every week or so now, he still feels like he doesn’t fit at times, that he’s occupying a space that shouldn’t be there. 

But then Lea will grin at him or Sora and Roxas asks him to play Just Dance, and that nagging, ugly thought leaves as quickly as it comes. 

Currently, Ventus sits on the couch, typing furiously to finish an essay while Roxas and Vanitas play games together. The click-clack of Ventus’s fingers on the keys accompanies Roxas’s shriek as Vanitas nearly sabotages their team. From the kitchen, Lea cusses loudly as Isa berates him. Something clatters in the sink, the water turning on full-blast. 

Vanitas feels…comfortable.

“Dinner’s ready,” Lea hollers.

Roxas hits pause on the game and he turns to Vanitas. “You pull that shit again, and you’re not getting drafted next year. Ven would _never_ treat me like that.” 

“We won, didn’t we?” 

“At what cost?” 

Vanitas shoves Roxas’s shoulder, scrambling to his feet to beat the younger boy into the kitchen. Sure enough, Roxas tries to race him, but Vanitas slides into the kitchen in a photo-finish. He cackles. 

Lea whirls around, red hair wild around his face, and his eyeliner smudged from the heat of the oven––or are those tears in his eyes? He cradles one hand in the other and says with only the slightest of tremors in his voice, “Time to eat.”

Vanitas looks at the burn on Lea’s hand and then at the cookie sheet haphazardly left on the top of the stove. “What’d you do? Grab it?” 

Lea says “no” at the same time Isa, head in one of the cabinets, says “yes.” 

Vanitas rolls his eyes. 

Struggling to regain some authority, Lea looks at Roxas and says, “Go get Sora.”

“What’s he doing?”

“If he’s not here, then he’s likely in your room.” 

Roxas heaves a sigh. He leaves the kitchen, marching up the stairs loud enough so that his footsteps echoing throughout the halls. 

Ventus weaves around Vanitas and around Lea who’s being nursed back to health by Isa in the center of the small kitchen. Isa doles out burn gel conservatively as the bottle’s nearly empty. Isa’s flat expression and the used up bottle attest to the fact that this happens too often to afford concern. 

“Van,” Ventus says, getting his brother’s attention. He hands a plate over and starts doling out his own food, subtly prompting Vanitas to do so as well. Vanitas wrinkles his nose. Typical Ventus. 

Soon all are seated around the table, Roxas returning moments before Sora does. Sora enters the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes. Roxas shakes his head. “Sleeping Beauty here passed out.” 

This earns a chuckle around the table as Sora sheepishly smiles at everyone. He waves at Vanitas and Ventus before getting his own plate. 

He sits down and Vanitas stares at his profile, noting no pillow creases on him. Sora’s hair is permanently fashioned in a state of bed-head, but as someone who’s faked being asleep more times than he can count, Vanitas highly doubts his cousin was asleep. 

Vanitas shoves the thought away. Why would he think that?

He stuffs his face with food, listening to the chatter around the table. Isa and Ventus discuss college things (ugh) as Roxas complains about a classmate of his. When he has the attention of the table, Lea launches into a potentially overblown story about a demanding client.

Isa’s the first to rise from the table to start putting things away, and Lea reaches out with his long arms, snagging the other man around the waist. As Isa protests and Lea clings harder, Vanitas’s eyes wander away from them to instead linger where Ventus leans over to Sora. Sora has his eyes trained on the tablecloth, a fork held loose between his fingers.

In Ventus’s soft voice, he asks, “Hey, you okay?” 

Sora snaps out of it, blinking rapidly. Immediately, he pulls up a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’ve just been kinda quiet. Tired?”

Vanitas ducks his face to look at his own plate, trying to pass off the fact that he’s eavesdropping. He stabs his food. He fails to catch Sora’s response as Lea has now wrangled Isa, and now they’re play-fighting to get away from the other. Lea’s hearty laughter drowns out what Vanitas wants to hear. 

Roxas jumps up from the table to aid in Lea’s endeavors. “Watch the oven!” Someone shouts, and the small kitchen and abundance of noise may have swallowed Sora’s response but it allows Vanitas to look at his younger cousin and watch as the smile drops from his face when he realizes Ventus is focused on the wrestling, no longer watching him. 

Vanitas makes a note of it. 

 

On the drive home, Vanitas taps his fingers on the steering wheel. The black polish on his nails has just started to chip and the thick silver rings on his fingers glitter with each passing streetlight. He itches to dial up the music, even though the silence between him and Ventus isn’t uncomfortable. Something about small, enclosed spaces––they just make him squirmy. 

Vanitas reaches for the knob, jacking the volume up louder. Ventus doesn’t seem to mind––not that Vanitas really cares, though. His brother has his head leaned back on the seat, eyes shut. 

Vanitas bites his lip, tapping his fingers a little more incessantly, out of beat with the song. 

He practically slaps the knob as he turns the volume back down. “Hey,” he says before he can regret it. 

“Hm?”

“What was Sora on about at dinner?” 

Ventus opens his eyes just as Scrapper gives an ominous shake. He waits a few seconds to see if the car has any other adverse reaction, but as moments pass without any, he looks at Vanitas’s profile. “Said he was fine.” He shrugs. “He was probably tired. You know he does summer league.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Vanitas shifts in his seat, dropping one hand to his thigh, drilling his fingers there. He clears his throat. “I can’t believe Lea and Isa let him walk around like that.”

“Like _what_?”

“Dressed as he is.” Vanitas puts a hand to his forehead, screwing his face into a distressed expression. “I like to think that we have an _uncanny_ visage, so him running around in,” he sniffs heavily, “cargo shorts and ugly polos….” 

Ventus laughs. “Well, you know that Lea’s tried to take him shopping, right. Sora just does not care about fashion.”

“Because he needs someone like me. A guiding mentor to show him what’s right and wrong, to lead him down the path––the aisle, if you will––of well-fitting pants.”

“So you’re gonna use your Hot Topic discount on him. I see.” 

“I will pull this car over and beat your ass. I’m not above that. I _will_ kill you.” 

Ventus rubs his chin. “I’m trying to imagine Sora in platforms. Pastry goth as you say––”

“It’s pastel––holy shit. Just shut up. Forever.” 

They arrive home without further attack on Vanitas’s sensibilities, but Vanitas finds himself still stuck on Sora’s downtrodden expression. Ventus retreats to his room to finish his homework, and Vanitas pulls out his phone, scrolling through his short list of contacts, grimacing as he eyes the sequence of names. 

_marluxia_

_larxene_

Ah, Lea. There he is. 

_lemme take sora to the mall. yes/yes._

Vanitas then switches to his messages with Sora, their last one being Sora asking him for help on some indie horror game he and Roxas wanted to play. Vanitas smothers a smile. He types out: _you up for some familial bonding_

Sora texts back first, Vanitas’s phone vibrating as soon as he dims the screen. 

_:O …really?_

_yes really. if you wanna, tell lea so he’ll text me back_

A few minutes pass. Sora texts, _he says “patience is a virtue” ?? but also ya i can go :3_

_güd. tomorrow, we ride._

_ride ?_

_just. expect me tomorrow._

_ok!!!!!!!!!!!_

 

Sora may as well be a puppy that’s slipped off its leash, a runaway train––full-steam ahead. 

Vanitas looks over at his cousin who fidgets in the passenger seat. First he looked through the receipts Vanitas left lying around, and now he’s taken to flipping through all the stations, except there are only two that don’t play static. One of which is country. 

It’s not even his actions per se; it’s the general touching of everything. The seat, the mirrors, fixing his own hair, pointing at other cars on the road, telling Vanitas about his practice earlier in the morning and then dropping the subject mid-thought and switching to talking about something Lea told him about ethically sourced leather. 

Vanitas can hardly keep up. 

“Here,” he finally interrupts, jabbing a finger at Sora’s feet. “Look through those. Play something.” 

Immediately, Sora goes, “Oh!” And leans forward to retrieve the thick CD case. “You know Lea and Isa have one of these.” 

“Yeah, around here we pretend like it’s the early 2000’s.” 

Sora sifts through the alphabetized bands––Ventus did that, not Vanitas––and as they approach a red light, Vanitas blinks. “Sora, what kind of music d’you like?” 

Sora shrugs. “I’ll listen to anything.” He flips through the CDs, more so to look at them all instead of choosing one. “Roxas likes a lot of these bands.”

“Right.”

And that’s when Sora spies his Best of *NSYNC CD. He doesn’t laugh, though Vanitas can tell that he wants to, and he looks sidelong at his older cousin. What Sora asks is not what he expects, though. “Do you have any Britney Spears?” 

The light turns green and Vanitas busies himself with shifting the car through the gears. Once he can, he directs, “Keep flipping.” Vanitas guides Sora until he lands on a compilation CD: Music That Cared For Me When I Didn’t Want It To. 

Sora giggles as he reads it. 

Sora slides it in, and Vanitas skips to track 5, so the classic “…Baby One More Time” starts booming through the car. With all of Scrapper’s faults, the sound system isn’t one of them. 

Sora bites down on his cheek, staring out the window with a goofy smile on his face. 

Vanitas can’t remember the last time he hung out one-on-one with Sora. Has he ever? What does Sora even like? 

The music isn’t too loud, so Vanitas doesn’t bother turning it down to ask, “You like Mrs. Spears?” 

“Yeah. She’s, uh, cool.” 

“Cool, huh?” 

“…My friend really likes her music, so he always plays her songs.” Sora smiles even wider at Vanitas, and ouch, the kid should warn people when he does that. “She’s pretty good!” 

Vanitas navigates the mall’s parking lot, but the word “friend” bounces around his head. He obviously only knows the bare minimum about Sora. Roxas, too. He has no idea about the specifics of their lives. 

He should…fix that.

Vanitas parks Scrapper, and they climb out. They make quite the pair. Sora’s decided to wear a shirt that Vanitas suspects is Roxas’s; it’s of some newer metal band, and the fact that it actually fits him hints that it’s not Sora’s more than anything. He’s paired it basketball shorts that are faded with years of use. The newest thing about Sora are his black and white Nikes, likely thanks to the fact that his feet have grown while much else about him hasn’t. 

Summer decided she wasn’t done with Vanitas, however, and came back today; the oppressive heat already has Vanitas sweating. He’s close to heat exhaustion, and it’s not even lunchtime yet. 

Sora stares at Vanitas with a wrinkled expression. “You know that I don’t have a lotta money, right,” he says, echoing what he told Vanitas two weeks ago. 

Vanitas shoves his keys in his pocket, the lanyard dangling out. He shrugs in his jean jacket, knocking his shoulder into Sora’s as he walks up to him. “Yeah, I know.” The hot wind blows across the parking lot, ruffling the bangs on Sora’s forehead and whipping the flannel tied around Vanitas’s waist in-between his legs. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

It’s not the first time his cousins have questioned his choice of style. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have gone for the black sleeveless high-necked tank top. He paired it with his high-waisted black skinnies and boots, which he would have survived in had he not added the double-whammy of his heavy jean jacket and red-and-black checkered flannel. 

Ventus, before Vanitas left the apartment: “You know it’s supposed to be like a bajillion degrees today.” 

But Vanitas had dug in his heels and refused to change, and oh, if only knew the rivers of sweat dampening his shirt, but he’s not going bare-armed anywhere. 

“Sora, Sora,” Vanitas chides. “Of course I’m hot.” 

“No, like. My legs can breathe, and I’m sweating.” He laughs, gesturing at Vanitas’s black skinny jeans. 

“Listen, we didn’t come to the mall to critique my style; we’re here to update yours.” 

Sora falls silent at that, and Vanitas doesn’t like it. He hooks his arm around Sora’s elbow and shoves his fist in his jean pocket. “Why don’t you tell me about this friend of yours––Mr. Spears, I’ll call him.” 

When Sora laughs, he has a way of putting his whole body into it. Shoulders hunching up, back bowing, knees bending, arms in movement. Vanitas gets a taste of this as Sora shrinks a bit, tugging Vanitas down thanks to their still-locked elbows. 

“His name’s Riku.” 

Vanitas tries to run the name through his servers, but no match. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah, you might remember him? He used to play for the county with me. Like a long time ago. We’re pretty good friends.” 

Vanitas certainly does not remember a friend named Riku. “Maybe if I see him, I’ll remember him,” Vanitas hums. “Besides, he’s a man of culture if he likes Britney.” 

“Yeah.” 

By this time, they’ve made it inside the mall, an arctic blast of air conditioner hitting them as they step through the doors. Vanitas lets Sora have his arm back as Vanitas manipulates his hair back into an upward motion. “So, kid,” he announces. “I’m thinking you prize comfort above all. Student athlete and all that.” 

Sora gives him two-thumbs up, and Vanitas snorts loud enough to get a plaid-shirted father to glare at him. He glares back. 

“I don’t know,” Sora goes on, again earning Vanitas’s immediate attention. “I feel restrained in jeans or dress pants. You know?” As if to demonstrate, Sora does a lunge, showing off his range of motion in basketball shorts. 

Just as he thought, then.

They go to two different stores, and they’ve only spent an hour and a half at the mall, but Vanitas can see how Sora’s attention span wanes with every article of clothing he suggests. Pretty soon, Vanitas starts grabbing things without consulting Sora, so he won’t have to make the mental decision if he wants to try things on or not. 

By the end of it, Sora has a small athleisure wardrobe and Vanitas has considerably less money in his bank account. 

Sora insisted on carrying the bags, and he hovers at Vanitas’s shoulder as he pays in the last store, watching the balance of the transaction. As they leave, Vanitas has to duck his head as they pass the Hot Topic for the third time this afternoon just so his co-workers won’t see him in the wild. The first time they passed, Sora loudly asked, “That’s where you work, right?” So it’s probably futile at this point. 

“Hey, Van?” 

Vanitas looks at Sora who wears his worry in plain-view. “Why’d you buy me all this? I said I’d help pay for it.” 

Vanitas feels his insides shriveling, and he can’t look at Sora as he answers, “Because I’m nice sometimes.” 

“Yeah, but….”

“Listen, isn’t, like, school in two weeks?” Vanitas fishes for anything, anything that will help him. “Consider this your back-to-school, uh, shopping trip.” 

Sora doesn’t look any happier at this; he actually looks even more put-out, his shoulders drooping a bit. Vanitas clenches his fists inside his jean pockets. What’s he supposed to _do_? 

They walk back out to the parking lot––Vanitas shields his hair from the air conditioning this time––and he opens his trunk for Sora to put his stuff inside. Sora hasn’t said a word since Vanitas asked about school, and he’s grasping at straws. 

_Ventus would know what to say. He’d know what’s wrong._

Vanitas slams his trunk shut and throws himself into the driver’s seat, waiting as Sora buckles his seatbelt. “So,” he drawls, dragging the syllable out as he thinks of something to say. “You’ll be a sophomore this year, huh? That’s exciting.” 

For a minute, he thinks he got the grade wrong, but then Sora nods. “Uh, yeah.” 

Alright.

“I remember my sophomore year. Lots of parties. Art class was absolutely lawless. Someone threw a fifteen-pound weight at me in the weight room.” Mildly horrified at his still-flapping mouth, Vanitas wishes Sora would offer him something, anything, to make him stop. “But, um. You play for the JV team, right? Uh, lacrosse?” 

This finally makes Sora perk up. “Yeah, that’s right.” 

_Heaven above._ “You have to be excited for that.” 

“Well, the school team starts in the spring, but right now I’m still playing for the county. My JV coach doubles as my league coach, and he told me if I keep it up, he’ll make me a starter.” Sora rubs at the back of his head, looking down at his lap. He tries to bite back his smile for once in his life. 

And, oh. Okay. Vanitas thinks he understands now. He reaches out, hand palm-up and extended between them. 

“Congrats.”

Sora stares at his hand for a moment, and Vanitas fears he’ll leave him hanging––but then Sora claps their hands together. A smile tugs up the edge of Vanitas’s mouth. 

“Tell me about it,” he says. “What’s your position?” 

Sora smiles, brilliant and wide, and this gets him talking the rest of the ride home, animatedly going over positions and the drills they do in practice. He talks with his hands, his expressions reaching his eyes, and his knees jumping as he uses full-body movements to demonstrate his meaning. Even though a lot of it flies over Vanitas’s head, he makes sure to look interested in what Sora’s talking about, prompting him to explain when the conversation lags. 

They near home, and Vanitas pulls into the visitor parking. He clears his throat. 

“Thanks,” Sora says. “Today was a lot of fun.” 

“Yeah. Hey, listen.” Sora’s hand freezes on the door handle, and he looks at Vanitas with big questioning eyes. Vanitas clears his throat again. “I dunno what’s going on––if anything––but I think you’re a cool kid.” 

Why’s it so hard to say that? Vanitas feels the heat on his cheeks, especially now that Sora’s looking at him, stricken. For a moment, he feels that he may have misjudged the situation, but then Sora ducks his head. He makes a strangled noise of embarrassment. “You think so?” 

“Hell yeah.” 

“Thanks, Van. Figures, I guess. Since we’re related and all.” 

“No,” Vanitas says, effectively cutting off Sora’s laughter. He bounces his knee. Rubs his palms on his jeans. The minimal breeze blowing through the cracked windows makes the car much too hot now that they’re no longer moving. Vanitas thinks he’s dying. Because of the heat. Yeah. 

“You’re cool. No thanks to me.” Vanitas clears his throat one last time and announces, “And now I’m literally going to pass out if I don’t get any air going.”

Sora chuckles, opening his door. “Alright, alright.” Sora walks around the back and retrieves his things from the trunk, then reappears at the passenger side laden with his bags. He stares at his older cousin for a second, his bright blue eyes communicating something that Vanitas still hasn’t learned, but he has an inkling of what it means. Sora says quietly, “Thanks, Van.” 

“N– No problem.” 

“Now go home. And take off the jacket. No dying.”

“We’ll see. I’m not built for summer, Sora.” 

Sora slams the door shut, giving a feeble wave as he balances all his things, and he runs up to his front door, juggling his keys as he tries to shove them in the lock. He waves at Vanitas again, and Vanitas gives a single wave back, watching. 

Finally, Sora makes it inside, and Vanitas is free to back out. 

Silly kid.

Vanitas only makes it to the end of the parking lot, though, before putting Scrapper in park. He fights with his jean jacket for a second, the heat and close confines making it difficult, but he finally frees himself. 

He breathes a sigh of relief. _Thank fuck._

He chucks the jacket over his shoulder and into the backseat. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. He fights with his window again, getting it to lower only another measly inch. He was joking with Sora, but he might not survive the trip home. And then he catches his reflection in his rear view mirror. Like everything else about Scrapper, its loose hinge makes the mirror angle lower than it should.

Vanitas’s eyes snag on his pale arms, much thinner than what they used to be–– 

Vanitas slaps the mirror so hard it turns almost one-hundred-eighty degrees away, now truly useless to him, but the good-for-nothing mirror hardly helps him anyway. He’ll fix it later. Meanwhile, the good mood that he built up with Sora quickly deteriorates, like waves claiming a carefully constructed sandcastle. 

Taking a deep breath, Vanitas’s feet work the pedals and he shifts back into motion. 

Sora’s cool by his own right. No help from Vanitas necessary. 

None at all. 

 

Vanitas stares at the side of Ventus’s head, hovering by the kitchen table. “So why are Roxas and Sora sharing a room again? I thought, uh, they weren’t?”

Ventus has his things spread out all over the table, notes upon notes. Things highlighted and methodically checked off. Vanitas reads the words “Poststructuralism and Food in Wuthering Heights” and feels his eyes already glaze over. 

Vanitas knows that anyone judging Ventus by this scene alone would give the improper impression that Ventus is a calm and rational person, free from emotional upheaval, but knowing him for twenty years has privileged Vanitas with insider’s knowledge. He’s no angel, however, tying his fate with Vanitas probably makes him seem like one in comparison. Ventus cusses out traffic and jaywalkers, rolling down his window to flip rude gestures; he’s absolutely lawless without seven hours of sleep, once passive-aggressively leaving their neighbor an unsigned note about double-parking and the consequences of such an offense. 

Ventus is just very good at keeping up appearances. 

But from years of self-conditioning, he’s become organized by default, a filing cabinet of important information. Vanitas’s mind is more like an attic––things are stored there for safekeeping and then immediately forgotten. 

This is why Ventus looks up from his work, a confused expression already in place. “Because Xion’s moving in next week.” 

“She– _who_?” 

“You know, the little girl from Lea’s family? I don’t know how she’s related, but she may as well be family. To us, anyway.” At Vanitas’s blank expression, Ventus rolls his eyes. “She’s literally come to every family event. Lea brings her everywhere.” 

“Well, he’s not really related to us either, so how can you expect me to keep track of _that_?” Vanitas pauses, shifting to his other foot, and grumbling, “Also, I haven’t really been to any family things things or whatever in awhile.”

 _A couple years, really._

Ventus plows on, either immune to Vanitas’s uncomfortable reminder or stubbornly optimistic in spite of it. He explains, “Xion comes over to the house every now and then, though, she’s had a bit of a rough summer.” Ventus studies his brother, and Vanitas sees the wheels turning in his head. “No. No, I guess you wouldn’t have seen her recently.”

Vanitas considers if this is the wrong time to ask about a boy named Riku. 

“But,” Ventus interjects strongly, “we literally helped move Sora’s stuff into Roxas’s room a few weeks ago. What’d you think was happening?” 

“I dunno? Bonding?” 

Ventus snorts. “You really think they’d room together by choice?” 

Vanitas shifts on the spot again, grabbing the back of the kitchen chair and then letting go. He folds his arms over his chest. “Well, I mean. They seem to get along well, like really well. Right?” 

“Please,” Ventus scoffs. “All brothers fight.” 

Vanitas almost hears the, _Not just us,_ tacked on. He sucks his lip between his teeth. “What could they possibly have to fight over.” 

“I don’t know. Probably stupid stuff.” Ventus has gone back to looking over his notes, but he peeks up at Vanitas, and Vanitas knows they’re no longer talking about their younger cousins. 

Vanitas shrugs, walking away from the table. “Yeah,” he agrees, with his back turned to Ventus. “You’re probably right.” 

 

A few days after his shopping trip with Sora, Vanitas wakes up to his dark room, much too dark for him to be awake yet. Vanitas blinks, realizing that the combination of bright light and buzzing from his nightstand are what roused him. 

He drags his hand out from his covers and slaps his palm over his phone, pulling the phone back into his warm cocoon. 

He hisses as he unlocks his screen, the bright light burning his retinas. It’s 6:17 am. 

“Who the….”

Vanitas squints, reading Sora’s name across his three new messages. 

_so the other day was lots of fun!_  
_i was thinking we could hang out again?_  
_just me and u :p_

Vanitas frowns, trying to reorder his thoughts in a coherent manner. 

_sure,_ he types, _how abt i text u during normal business hours_

_oh. srry did i wake u up??????_

_mayb. …_  
_txt u in a bit. need more beauty sleep._

Vanitas turns his screen off and doesn’t have the chance to wonder about Sora’s request before sleep reclaims him. 

 

A day later and nursing an iced coffee in the afternoon sunshine, Vanitas leans against the hood of his car. The edges of summer have once again retreated, the breezy air of fall slipping back over the city. Vanitas made no mistake, though. Gone is his jean jacket, and he opted for wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt. Still black but the material is more forgiving than jean. 

A breeze tickles the back of his neck. He peers over his heart-shaped sunglasses to see Sora running around the field, lacrosse stick in hand, running in his lacrosse cleats toward the lacrosse goal. 

Vanitas slurps the last of his iced coffee. 

He rattles the ice around the bottom of his cup. Another breeze licks at the rips in his skinny jeans, artfully sliced open at the knees. He looks out the corner of his eye; a mom in a mini-van keeps shooting him looks. Probably wondering which gremlin is his. 

Or which player has a gremlin for an older brother. 

Practice ends and Sora jogs over to Vanitas, waving frantically at him like Vanitas won’t see him. The closer Sora gets, Vanitas spies the lines on his face where his helmet pressed into his skin and the wide bruise forming between his bare shoulder and his elbow. 

“Got snagged, did ya?” Vanitas points to the bruise on his arm, fresher than the others. 

“Yeah, no big deal.” Sora throws his bag and stick in Vanitas’s trunk and climbs in the front seat. In the close confines of the car, the sweaty stench rolls off Sora, and Vanitas does his best to not grimace. Oh, to be a teenager. 

“I got your text,” Sora says as he types something on his phone. He bites his lip to try to stop smiling at whatever he’s reading, and Vanitas finds that very interesting indeed. But then Sora looks at him. “What’d you have in mind?” 

Yesterday morning, Vanitas started his business hours at 10 am and after a few texts, he and Sora decided that they were both free the next day (today) after Sora finished practice. Lea was notified. Vanitas’s wallet was prepared. 

Time to partyrock. 

Vanitas pulls out of the lot, heading toward what he figures is the only good idea that won’t break his bank. “How do you feel about ice cream?” 

“Sounds good!”

“Great, because I was gonna go even if you said no.” 

“Weren’t you just drinking coffee?” 

“Sora, I’ve seen you eat pancakes and then guzzle an energy drink when Isa wasn’t looking, so we don’t need to go through the motions of pretending we both aren’t addicted to sugar.”

“Fair enough.” 

Soon enough, they pull into the tiny parking lot of the run-down ice cream parlor. It’s not the most fashionable place, and Vanitas may have found a spider in his ice cream before, but that was a few years ago. 

“This place?” 

Vanitas looks at his younger cousin, laying a hand over his heart. “Looks aren’t everything,” he says sagely. “Their ice cream is magnificent; it’s a shame that their beauty isn’t reflected outward.” 

Sora looks skeptical, his eyes wandering over the dilapidated sign, the sun-bleached awning, the parking lot’s faded lines, but follows Vanitas up to the small window to order. After a few minutes of trying to communicate their order to the elderly man, watching him hit buttons on the old register, and then slowly assemble their order, they finally receive their respective milkshakes. 

For Sora, birthday cake complete with sprinkles. 

Vanitas sucks up his vanilla milkshake. Huh. He smacks his lips together. This…definitely isn’t _as_ good as he remembered. How could nostalgia have let him down? 

“Oh, you’re right,” Sora exclaims, both hands clutched around the styrofoam cup. He races back to the car, jumping on the spot as he waits for Vanitas to leisurely stroll to his side. “This is really good.” 

Vanitas shrugs, one hand palm-up. “Would I ever lie to you?” 

They climb back in the car, and the cool day mixed with the shade of the parking lot––Vanitas managed to park underneath a tree––makes it bearable for them to sit and drink. 

“You texted me pretty early yesterday,” Vanitas brings up, casually removing his straw to lick the end. His shake is still too thick to properly suck up. He darts glances to Sora out of the corner of his eye. “Do you just wake up that early?”

Sora has his straw perched between his lips, a bit of milkshake dribbling onto his chin. He stares straight ahead, and the easy expression slips a bit. “Oh, yeah. Sometimes. It’s better that I wake up early to get ready for school next week.” 

“Mm, I see.” 

The silence lapses between them, but it feels different this time. Heavier. Vanitas doesn’t even know how to broach it. Should he address it? Should he just leave it? Sora didn’t call them here just to “hang out,” otherwise he wouldn’t have specified that it just be the two of them. 

Maybe he should just leave it alone. 

After all, he didn’t like when people poked their holes in his problems. Uninvited. Not that Vanitas was the type to offer an invitation, but…. 

Vanitas licks along his straw. 

“Hey, Van, I– I was wondering….” Sora grips his milkshake tighter, staring at it like it might reach up and bite him if he’s not careful. “You know what you said the other day? About something bothering me?” 

Sora licks his lips, and Vanitas remains very still, like one move will frighten him. 

“Do you ever feel, like, bad?” 

What a loaded question. 

Vanitas dips his straw back into his milkshake and gives it an experimental shake. He says, “Yeah, why you asking?” 

Sora shifts in the seat, looking marginally relieved at Vanitas’s answer, though he still doesn’t look at him. “I– I feel tired, but I can’t sleep.” Sora’s foot starts tapping, jiggling his whole leg. “I just…. I’ve been having a lot of thoughts lately. About weird things. Different things.” 

“What kinds of things?” 

Sora falls quiet, lips pressed together. Seeing him start to retreat, Vanitas swallows a mouthful of milkshake and says, “I feel bad. A lot. It’s okay, Sora.” 

“Y– You do?” 

Vanitas nods, drinking from his shake again. “So you can talk about it if you want. I’m all ears.” 

Sora fiddles with his milkshake cup, lightly denting the styrofoam with his fingernail. It seems like he won’t take Vanitas up on his offer until he opens his mouth and says, “I feel like Roxas doesn’t…. Roxas and I fight more now.” 

_So Ven was right._

“We fight about stupid stuff,” Sora goes on. “Like the other day, he thought I took his socks, and maybe I did throw them under his bed, but then he stole my phone––and I _hate_ that––and I had to chase him down for it, and he locked himself in the bathroom, and….” Sora adjusts his grip on his cup, noticing he’s squeezing it too hard. “I dunno. It just seems like he gets irritated whenever we’re in the same room now.”

Vanitas states, “Because Xion’s moving in.” 

“I didn’t think sharing a room would be so stupid. I didn’t mind. Plus, Xion’s moving for school, like, she needs somewhere to stay.” Sora chews his lower lip, something still clearly on his mind. “I think Roxas has been really sensitive lately.” 

“No specific reason he’s mad?” 

Sora finally looks at Vanitas. “He’s always been…angry about our parents. I don’t know; I think it’s gotten worse.” Vanitas doesn’t fill in the silence, letting Sora work through it on his own. After half a minute of jiggling his knee and staring at the space behind Vanitas’s head, he does. “He’s never been friends with Riku, and he’s always so mean to him, but recently _that’s_ gotten worse too, and I’m just worried about school starting again and them being,” he chuckles nervously, “in close proximity? With each other?” 

Sora puts his milkshake between his knees and presses his palm against his eyes. “Ugh, and last semester I didn’t do so well, and Isa had to talk to me about my grades, so I need to do better this year.” He drags his hands downward and looks at Vanitas again. “So it’s all just stupid.” 

Vanitas claps a hand on Sora’s shoulder. “Stupid but valid.” 

“You think so?”

“Listen, Ven and I fight. A lot. Probably more than you and Roxas. Roxas loves you, and whatever he’s got going on…. Maybe you should talk to him about it.” 

Sora face wrinkles. 

“Or try to?” 

“Maybe.” 

Vanitas works his jaw, retracting his hand. It’s a bit hypocritical, he knows, telling Sora to talk to Roxas when he can’t do the same with Ventus, but…. “What about Lea? I’m sure he’d understand you.” 

“Yeah but if I do that, he’ll _make_ me and Roxas talk it out, and then Roxas will get mad at me, and then we’ll just be fighting again.” Sora shakes his head. 

Vanitas, the hypocrite, sips his milkshake, unable to offer any real advice. He said he would be Sora’s ear to vent to, anyway. There’s nothing else _to_ do. 

“Thanks, Van. I didn’t really feel like talking about it, but––I dunno––I feel better. Somehow.” 

Vanitas looks up to see Sora’s wide grin back in place, one that fully reaches his eyes and scrunches up the corners. It tickles something inside his chest, and––no, wait. He does know what to say. 

Vanitas reaches out and ruffles Sora’s bangs and tells him, “Good. But you know, you don’t have to pretend to be okay when you’re not. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re a cool kid; you don’t like other people worrying about you, but,” Vanitas takes a deep breath, “sometimes that’s what we need. A little help.” 

Sora blinks at him. “Oh. Yeah, okay.” 

Face hot, Vanitas nearly kicks the driver’s side door open as he clambers out. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I need to buy Roxas’s milkshake.” 

Vanitas stalks back to the window to order, and he folds his arms over his chest as he waits. He thinks of Sora, staring at him with a mixture of gratitude and reverence. It makes him ascend to a higher place, an elevated form of being, but also the thoughts in the back of his head latch onto it, twisting the image for their own purposes. 

_Really? You think you deserve that?_

Vanitas shoves the thought away and lets the overwhelming happiness, spurred on by the sunshine, completely drown out his negativity. 

_Helping Sora, even just a little,_ Vanitas thinks, _feels good._

“Watcha smiling for?” The old man asks, setting the milkshake on the counter. 

Vanitas rips himself out of his thoughts, smooshing down the smile on his face. “N- Nothing,” he scowls, thrown off. He snags the milkshake and manages to grumble, “Thanks,” before darting back to the car. 

The drive back to Lea’s feels easier somehow. Sora plays with the radio, flipping through songs and CDs with an ease about him that tells Vanitas that he’s feeling at least a little better.

Roxas’s milkshake sits in the console, only just starting to sweat. 

Sora cranks up the volume even louder on the third Britney song that he’s played, and Vanitas imagines that Sora’s friend didn’t have to try very hard to acquaint Sora with her discography. 

Vanitas pulls into the parking lot and immediately hits the brakes. 

Roxas is sitting in the visitor’s parking spot. 

His younger cousin wears a wary expression on his face, looking through Scrapper’s windshield and directly into Vanitas’s soul. Vanitas yells through the crack in his window, “Hey, out the way!”

After a moment, Roxas stands and steps back onto the sidewalk. He’s barefoot, in just sweatpants and a band t-shirt, and he folds his arms over his chest as Vanitas pulls in. 

Sora hops out the car. 

Roxas barely gets to complain, “Where’ve you guys been? I’ve been waiting––” when Sora shoves the milkshake in his hands. “Wh– What’s this?”

“It’s a milkshake,” Sora laughs. “Seasalt, right?”

Roxas’s expression unwinds at the mention of his favorite flavor, and he turns curious eyes toward Vanitas. “You picked him up from practice?” Without waiting for a yes or no, Roxas asks, “Well, are you gonna stay for awhile?” 

Vanitas steps onto the sidewalk, pushing his heart-shaped sunglasses up into his hair. By now, Sora’s skipped all the way to the front door with his lacrosse stuff and darts inside, likely thanks to Roxas leaving it unlocked. Vanitas walks beside Roxas, watching him take a gulp of his milkshake. 

“Yeah, I guess I can.”

Roxas looks at Vanitas, his expression more closed off, more guarded than Sora ever dreamed, but his voice is soft, reminiscent of the little kid that used to beg Vanitas to make blanket forts. “You’ve hung out with just Sora twice now; did I miss the memo?” 

Although the words come out easy, they have an edge to them. Vanitas remembers what Sora said about Roxas and their parents, and Vanitas clenches his jaw. He won’t betray Sora’s confidence, but he does put an arm around Roxas’s shoulders, squeezing them through the front door as a single unit. 

“Roxas, you let me know where you wanna go; I’ll take you.” 

“You will?” 

“Besides,” Vanitas says, as he kicks the front door shut. Sora’s feet disappear at the top of the stairs as he runs to dump his things in his and Roxas’s room. “I’ll be around so much that I bet you’ll get sick of me.” 

_Thump thump thump._

Sora reappears on the stairs and both brothers swivel their heads to Vanitas. Sora blurts out, “What do you mean?” 

Maybe yesterday Vanitas texted Lea about potentially picking up the kids from school a few times a week. With Lea and Isa’s increased workload––Lea’s influx in clientele and Isa in grad school––it would help them out, especially with, uh, Xion moving in. 

Sora careens down the stairs, jumping the last five to spring up in front of Vanitas. “You mean it?” 

“Why would I joke about that?”

Roxas slips out from under Vanitas’s arm. Sora’s already moved on, running towards the kitchen and yelling about food, but Roxas pauses before following Sora. He wears the smallest of smiles. “That’d be cool,” he determines.  
But the look on his face tells Vanitas so much more. 

Vanitas rubs the back of his neck. _Kids_. “Alright, alright,” he yells. “Now, who wants to lose at Mario Kart?”

**Author's Note:**

> \- more parts to (hopefully) come!  
> \- next part will be from sora's pov  
> \- yes, the title is lifted from linkin park's "in the end"  
> \- last but not least, shoutout to jenna for being co-parent of this au what have we done!!!  
> \- kinda wanted to name this au "cool cousin vanitas extended universe"  
> \- thanks for reading!! ✨


End file.
